As I scroll near-mindlessly through my Instagram feed, there's an emptiness that comes along with the visual proof that my peers and I are growing old. Every night I sit here on my Ikea couch, fake-watching TV, trying to pretend that this is “me time” and “ self-care ” when I'm really just wasting away while recovering from my demanding daily duties. The banality of my existence feeds both my depression and anxiety, but I'm too damn tired to do something that is actually gratifying with my time…